


this one's for the torn down; the experts at the fall

by silhouette (thiefless)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Hurt Peter Parker, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is 19, Pre-Iron Man 1, Pre-Slash, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is 29, set in 1999
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-13 22:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21240389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiefless/pseuds/silhouette
Summary: "Hey, kid," Tony said, aiming for quiet nonchalance. "Mind telling me why you're standing on the edge of my five-star hotel?"-Trigger Warning: mentions of suicide.





	this one's for the torn down; the experts at the fall

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set on December 16. 1999. In this fic, Tony is 29 and Peter is 19 so there is a ten year difference (but nothing actually happens, it's more just Feelings). Iron Man doesn't exist yet but the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man exists, though no one knows who he is.
> 
> Title taken from the song, "Comes and Goes" by Greg Laswell.

Tony Stark had a reputation to maintain. He had a character to play; a stage to perform on. How else better to epitomise the laundry list of character defects that perfectly summed up his persona than by hosting a grand party, in a ridiculously overpriced hotel that he just bought?

Normally, could handle his award-winning portrayal of his infamous media alter-ego. Today was not the day, it seemed, and none were more surprised than Tony himself. 

After an hour of excruciatingly painful interactions with share holders, Tony had had enough. Abandoning his stiff drink, he zigzagged through the haze of alcohol and the gaggle of warm bodies parading themselves in front of him, he headed to the roof. He wanted to breathe in the sharp wintry air, to feel the wind lick his face, and to ease the harsh slap of sobriety.

He just craved a _feeling_.

He didn't anticipate that somebody was already up there.

The kid went ramrod still the second Tony arrived, as if he had some hidden alert warning him of another human's presence. His spine snapped, locking him in place so suddenly with a rigidity the US Army could only dream of emulating. 

The mature, responsible part told him to remain silent, to let the kid come to him, to let it be a natural process. Any sudden moves might send him running for the hills - _or careening off the side of a building._

Of course, Tony had been telling that inane superior voice to go screw itself for twenty-nine years so it probably shouldn't come as a surprise that Tony ignored that advice and instead acted on pure instinct.

"Hey, kid," Tony said, aiming for quiet nonchalance. "Mind telling me why you're standing on the edge of my five-star hotel in the middle of the night?"

There was a hesitant pause. Tony didn't dare breathe for fear of chasing the kid's words right out of his mouth. Then:

"I didn't know you owned a hotel, Mr. Stark."

Ah. So the kid _did _know who Tony was. Curious, because he still hadn't turned around to face him, and Tony had never gotten the impression that his voice was so recognisable - his signature goatee was far more of a giveaway. Maybe the kid was just extra attentive of his surroundings in a manner Tony never was, he mused, or just highly intuitive.

Tony didn't voice any of that out loud, of course.

"Actually, I own this _chain_ of hotels, but that's a small technicality. Doesn't bear thinking about."

He thought he heard an incredulous _small?_ parroted back, but his hearing was compromised by the remnants of the party he just ditched. Nevertheless, Tony appreciated the sentiment. He did have a ludicrous amount of money, far more than he could viably keep track of.

(And, for this flash of a second, Tony entertained the insane idea that he would spend every penny to get the kid to come off the ledge.)

Tony took a step closer. The kid was still locked in self-imposed silence and Tony was itching to dispel the unnerving quiet with the only tool at his disposal: his mouth.

"Not that I don't see the appeal," he drawled, never one to beat around the bush, "but I feel it's my God-given duty to dissuade you from whatever you hope to achieve tonight." When there was no response, he added, "Plus, hate to break it to ya, but you're kinda killing the vibe."

Which. Okay. Maybe bad humour wasn't the best approach but, in his defence, Tony had never been on _this_ side of things. Being a responsible adult in a world gone mad wasn't exactly Tony's forte; it was unfamiliar territory for him. But, you know what they say about new challenges, and Tony was always known for being a heinously quick study.

Thankfully, though, Tony detected an upward flick of the kid's lips. Nothing major, nothing too fancy, yet it loosened a knot in Tony's stomach all the same.

The moment vanished in a heartbeat when the kid replied, in as vulnerable a tone as Tony had ever heard, "What are you doing here, Mr. Stark? Don't you have that fancy part to host?"

That was a question Tony was expecting, yet somehow that didn't make the answer materialise any faster, particularly when even he didn't know why he was there, entertaining the kid. 

(_Yes, he does. Because Tony knows what it's like-_

_No. Stop. That was years ago. Irrelevant._)

Tony cocked his head to the side, making a show of passive detachment that probably fooled no one.

"Nah," he said, as though he were simply shooting the breeze with a business associate. "My drinking buddy disappeared somewhere around the third hooker." Rhodey had finally been persuaded to quit the babysitting gig and give in to temptation, and Tony had run circles around Happy until he could escape without fanfare.

The kid barked a laugh that choked like a sob. "Of course you had three strippers tonight."

_Actually, there were five_, a really immature part of Tony's brain wanted to announce. Not that he felt the correction was necessary; the unspoken _because you're Tony Stark_ filled the damning silence well enough. Besides... "Mainly for decoration. I wasn't really feeling it."

Turned out the reminder of your dead parents was a mood killer. Who knew?

In an effort to distract himself from the painful fact, he casually asked, "You got a name, kid?"

A beat. "Peter."

_Peter_. Tony tried it on for size, mouth instinctively melting as he unconsciously rolled the name around on his tongue. He liked it. Liked the way it fits him; the way it bounced around his cheeks and swallowed down his throat.

Now, Tony wasn't the type of guy to put a lot of stock on names - when you meet as many people as Tony Stark on a daily basis, names becoming something of a meaningless blur in the crazy study in mundanity. Yet he couldn't deny the utter perfection of the kid's name, and he knew, despite his half-assed excuses, that it wasn't just his drug-addled mind manipulating events beyond his understanding.

He was half tempted to push for a second name to complete the set (and maybe a face to put to the name) but that would probably be jumping the gun a little too fast. Besides, anonymity was a guy's best friend in these trying times.

"Peter," he murmured aloud. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Stark."

(Tony gritted his teeth against the formality of his own name, unable to hold back the involuntary barrage of raw emotions that accompanied the title. _Mr. Stark_ was reserved for his business persona, for the cocky playboy; for the cold, hard son-of-a-bitch modelled on his father. Tony didn't want to be reduced to that empty shell of a man for Peter. He found himself wanting to break the cycle of shame the address evoked.)

"Alright, Pete," and he was actively not thinking about how the nickname just flows from his mouth - and, was that a problem? It felt like it should be a problem. Fuck. "Think you can get down from there, now?"

He let out a ragged breath he didn't know he was holding when Peter took one painstakingly small step away from the edge. And then another: small, tentative, hesitant. But no less significant.

Then Peter turned around, and Tony was helpless to resist.

His heart skipped a beat, palpating as he raked his hungry gaze all over that gorgeous face: from the guarded slant of his brows, to the pair of big browns that were so expressive, swimming in all the words Peter wouldn't allow himself to voice. And all that was without mentioning the luscious curls, windswept and messy and practically begging for Tony's hands to sink in and possess every strand.

"Hey," Tony said hoarsely, throat dry. He resisted the urge to wet his lips, he didn't want to fracture this tender, delicate picture.

Peter wasn't smiling, exactly, but Tony liked to think that some part of the kid was also riding the aftershocks of this moment, as he replied with a gentle, "Hey." 

Such a simple word. But it veiled the magnitude of all that was left unsaid. 

"Kid, this is a safe space. Nothing you say here can be used against you. I promise." Given the numerous crass depictions of himself in the media, his word probably wasn't the best pledge he could have offered, regardless of his honesty.

Peter obviously thought so too, doubt plastered all over his face, and Tony would be lying if that didn't sting somewhere soft.

Tony widened his arms in the face of Peter's reservations, gesturing to himself. "I am capable of being more than a playboy," he said with a wry smirk.

He didn't mean it maliciously, yet Peter's face fell all the same. He looked like he'd just been slapped. "I'm. I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark. I. I didn't mean to-"

"No." Tony sighed. "It's fine, Pete. Don't worry about it."

Peter looked unconvinced, worrying his bottom lip until it was a metallic red. 

"I'm not. I wasn't gonna..." _Jump. _"I just..." Peter suddenly choked, unable to finish, but Tony was smart - he could fill in the blanks.

"You thought about it." He was careful to keep his tone detached and void of sympathy. Personal experience had taught him that the pity of others was not conducive to self-healing. (_God, when did he turn into a shrink?)_

The kid nodded shakily at Tony's casual answer, and it was that confirmation that caused Tony's chest to ache in a way that had nothing to do with the grief he was already feeling.

Peter sucked in a rough breath, so harsh it assaulted Tony's ears. "Sometimes," he confessed. The whispered admission wrenched Tony's heart further.

"Y'know, Pete," Tony interrupted the solitude, iron nerves steeling himself for what he was about to admit. "This may be hard to believe but I've been where you are now."

Peter glanced between his previous position (and, wow, did Tony's belly lurch at the reminder; that was a new development he didn't remember signing off on) and Tony, eyebrows pointedly raised.

He couldn't help the twitch of his lips. "Not literally." The sombre mood threw him for a loop, the brief lightness vanishing in an instant. "But, metaphorically?" Tony continued, holding his words steady. "I've been to the darkness too, kid."

Tony rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tiny pinprick he always passed off as insignificant to any of his bed warmers whenever it caught their gaze for a fleeting second. His thumb trembled lightly as he traced it, before holding his wrist up to Peter, moonlight casting its glow upon the scar.

"I've never told anybody before, so I'm trusting you not to run off with my darkest secret." He was only half joking. "Maybe one day I'll tell you the full story."

Peter nodded solemnly.

"We can get outta here," Tony said suddenly. He had perfected the art of running away from his feelings and was feeling the urge to hightail it out of there... but he wanted Peter to leap into the unknown with him. "If you want to. There's a free bar downstairs if you fancy heading over with me," he offered, even as his mind screamed in protest at the idea of further social interaction. Somehow, though, the whole undertaking didn't seem quite so daunting if he knew he would be returning with Peter on his arm. "Want a drink?"

Peter frowned, no doubt taking stock of Tony's blown pupils and the scotch that decorated his breath like mouthwash. "Can't," he said evenly. "Not twenty-one."

Tony snorted. "Such a boy scout," he teased good-naturedly. He worried for a brief moment that Peter would take his light comment in a different way but, to his relief, Peter merely curved his lips in amusement. "How old are you, anyway?" he asked before reading the way Peter's whole countenance tensed at the prospect of sharing confidential information with a virtual stranger. "If you don't mind me asking."

For a few moments there, Tony believed he'd gone and screwed up all his hard work in getting the kid to open up, until Peter inhaled sharply, and a whispered, "Nineteen," hissed out through his clenched jaw on the exhale.

_God, he's so young_, was Tony's immediate reaction. But, at the risk of sounding frighteningly similar to his late father, he vetoed that response. 

"Jesus," he said instead. "You really are a kid."

Peter rolled his eyes at Tony's antics. 

Tony's mind was still stuck on the detail of his youth - Peter was only ten years younger than himself yet Peter carried his burdens like he was decades older. 

Weirdly, it made Tony want to cry. The urge to bundle the kid up in his arms was growing harder and harder to ignore.

"Don't suppose I have to say my age. I'm sure you're already well aware of that." The tabloids loved splashing features of himself on their front covers, adorning the contents of their frivolous articles. His every move was scrutinised, documented, every small sliver of information catalogued without remorse, displayed for the masses to pass judgement on.

Peter nodded. The wary glint hadn't fully dissipated, posture still hunched this side of defensive. The only upside was that he was no longer perched quite so precariously on the edge of the building, so that was something. 

"Can you," Peter started and then just as abruptly cut off.

Tony's interest was certainly piqued. "Can I what?"

"N-No. It's okay. You don't have to."

"Okay, now I definitely want to hear it."

Peter laughed and, fuck, if that wasn't the eighth natural wonder of the world.

"It's stupid," he said. His face was flushed scarlet. "But I just, um. I wondered if I could keep you."

_Yes._

"I mean- Just for a little while longer. If we could just stay here for a bit." Shyly, "I like talking to you."

Tony said it that time: "Yes."

He decided there and then that Peter's glorious smile was one of the greatest things he'd ever seen.

And so they stayed.

Tony knew that one conversation couldn't solve all of Peter's problems overnight, but. It was a start. For both of them.

They talked for hours, up there on the roof of a hotel Tony had purchased on a whim, discussing anything and everything. They continued on, heedless of the biting December chill, basking in the light of the stars.

(If this was what it felt like to drown in someone then Tony never wanted to come up for air.)

The oncoming dawn etched onto the Manhattan skyline, inky blackness receding into murky light in preparation for the crescendo of the sun.

It was Peter who pulled back, a grim expression painted on his face, one that Tony desired nothing more than to wipe clean until Peter's face was free from constraint.

But. Responsible adult. Tony had to be the responsible adult.

"You should go home," he said to Peter. He hoped that his reluctance bled into his tone, so Peter knew just how this parting pained him. If Peter's features were anything to go by, the feeling was mutual. "Get some sleep, kid."

"So should you," Peter retaliated, a pensive look on his face, flitting through too many emotions, too numerous and complex to catalogue, before he reached a conclusion.

And then he was walking over.

Tony's breaths came in dangerously short supply the closer Peter came. He dared not move lest to scare him away; his every nerve crying out to touch him and envelop him, a fresh reprieve from the cruel world who held no compunction about tearing him apart. Tony's heart rattled against his rib cage, yet he forced himself to remain still, even as his posture was as taut as a bowstring. Tony read the flicker of uncertainty in the kid's big browns as they neared and hoped against hope that Peter wouldn't take Tony's tension as a sign to stop.

He didn't.

Peter edged close to him, gifting Tony the option to run if he so desired, blissfully unaware of the fact that Tony would never desire to leave his proximity.

With such poetic tenderness, Peter gently pecked Tony's cheek, beard rubbing along his bare face.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark," he followed up with a whisper, ghosting along his skin and sealing the imprint of his fragile kiss.

Tony didn't have time to react before Peter turned sharply on his heel and jumped.

A cry lodged in Tony's throat. It was as though he was relegated to watching it from afar, from a position wherein he was afforded no window to interfere. It was awful; like a slow-moving gunshot. Tony had never really allowed himself to acknowledge the arguments against his weapons business but, from this angle, Tony finally understood them.

By the time Tony reached the end, it was after the fact. All he could do was steel himself to look over the edge and-

Wait.

There. In the distance. Nothing more than a small figure oscillating between passing buildings, dangling from... _webs_.

Tony couldn't fucking believe it.

Peter had fallen, yes, but - Peter wasn't dead. He was so heartrendingly alive, and the ensuing rush of emotion engulfed Tony so strongly he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his triumphant sounds.

Spider-Man.

Peter was Spider-Man.

Spider-Man was Peter.

_Oh, God. _Tony'd just spent the night with Spider-Man.

Tony ignored the emptiness that seeped into his old soul now that his gaze was absent of Peter. The world felt just that little bit off, that little bit off-kilter, in his wake, as though he'd snatched away all of Tony's warmth.

He stayed on that rooftop for a short while longer, indulging himself in the fantasy that one day, maybe, he'd find Peter again. 

And, in the meantime - he could get around to building Spider-Man a suit befitting his calibre.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed it!
> 
> If you or anyone you know is feeling like the way Peter is in this fic, then please don't hesitate to tell someone. Keeping it all bottled in will only make it worse (speaking from personal experience).


End file.
